


Like Old Times

by Victorthyreas



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Reunion, They're just so in love, i don't make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24454690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorthyreas/pseuds/Victorthyreas
Summary: It's been three years since they parted on the mountain and Jaskier has been looking for Geralt until he finds him in an inn.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108





	Like Old Times

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all, this is also posted on my tumblr [@ jasxier ] but it got quite messy so TA-DAA!!  
> Enjoy!  
> Feedback is welcome (this is basically my first fic so i'd love to know your opinion)

_"You came back."_

  
Came a low whisper from behind him. Jaskier recognized the voice, he would recognize it in pitch black, he would recognize it among million other voices, it was the sound of long night babbling about nothing and everything, the sound that would kept him out of trouble, the sound of comforting after getting in said trouble. 

And, oh boy, he was. He was in trouble. If the word also means being in love with your friend, then he had brought a calamity upon himself. 

He turned on his heels, the floor creaked under his feet and the sound echoed within the walls and in his ears and back again. The door of the candle lit room was open and the outline of a (oh so very) familiar shape was standing under the frame. 

A particularly low hum was emerging from the first floor of the inn. The few remaining patrons were probably still discussing about the Witcher who, a few minutes earlier, had kicked the front door open, covered in blood and snowflakes and something unidentified, two very scary looking swords hanging from a leather strap attached on his back, armor almost ripped in pieces, interrupting their nightly ritual consisting mostly of drowning their anxieties and sorrows in cheap beer.   
Unbothered by their stares and judging murmurs, the Witcher had climbed the stairs leading to the rented rooms, navigating effortlessly through the dark aisle, opened the door to his chamber only to find it occupied.

 _"You came back_ " the Witcher repeated, his doubt visible, eyes wide as he was taking in the sight in front of him. It couldn't really be Jaskier. He was hallucinating, he was sure of it.

" _Look at you._ " Jaskier let an almost desperate sigh and stepped closer to the Witcher, examining his ruined armor, looking for any sign of damage on the other man's skin. The sight never failed to make his heart pound in his chest and cold sweat break out on his face.

He haven't seen the Witcher in three years. He haven't listened to his barytone voice, a voice that could easily break every single bone of his body and Jaskier would be happy to endure the sweet suffering. But the feelings had remained the same as before. Feelings that Jaskier had tried to put into words, had tried to communicate them to his Witcher but his efforts were proven fruitless.

The Witcher let the man remove his armor, shredded piece by shredded piece landing on the floor as if it was hanging by a single strand of spider web. Soft ghostly fingertips hesitatingly touching the fabric of his shirt.

" _Yeah, we need to remove that,_ " Jaskier gestured at the shirt " _and your trousers as well_ " he paused and laid his eyes on the Witcher's face with a smirk painted on his lips. He was avoiding the Witcher's eyes, he knew, he fucking knew that the moment he would let his own fall in the honey trap, like a bee longing for sweetness, it'd be the end of him. 

Oh, to perish in honey. Suffocating. Sticking. Sinking. 

_Sinking._

_Sinking._

He needed to focus. " _Not to sound rude or anything but I knew you had arrived just by the smell_ " he chuckled " _You need a fucking bath, Geralt_ " and Geralt nodded in agreement. He couldn't ignore the annoyingly pleasant feeling creeping in his lower abdomen after hearing his own name wrapped in glittering veil binded with satin colorful ribbons which was Jaskier's voice.

He was watching the younger man as he carried himself next to the window observing the snow falling quietly on the ground outside, flickering as the moonlight was caught on the white patches already forming on the street. A stillness filled the night as it always does when it's snowing. 

Jaskier turned his back on the Witcher, granting him some privacy as he shucked off his clothes.

It was not that Jaskier hadn't see him naked before, he had, countless blessed times but that was before they had parted ways after that dreadful day on that dreadful mountain three years ago.

Geralt had thought he'll never see his friend again, not after the cruel words he had spat out on him. Words that were haunting him ever since, words that he wished he never have said. 

But he had.

So why did he open the door to what he thought was an empty room, why did he settle in for a night he had thought would be one more lonely night to add to the ever growing pile of lonely nights he had spent after that day, only to find himself staring at his bard, at his friend, at his Jaskier.

Why was Jaskier back?

" _I broke in, you know_ " Jaskier announced in a humorous tone and pride filled his lungs still looking out the window. He was proud. Proud that his heart was often the one making decisions, never paying attention to what his mind was yelling at it. Always a battle between the two. Always ending in pain and a heart shattered. But he was proud. Because his shattered heart was screaming louder than other carefully mended hearts. His heart was singing louder songs about heartbreak,

for the last three years.

 _"I can see that_ " came the reply from the Witcher who had somehow managed to get rid of his filthy clothes without losing sight of his late night visitor.  
  
Jaskier had changed.

He still look fairly young, mind you. The youthfulness never seem to abandon the man. His hair was covering his temple, as it always did. It looked soft. The bard was always looking after himself. A delicate wave of strands was gently stroking his eyebrow. Eyes, ever so bright and blue, looking almost transparent under the dim light of the candles and the white snowy veil reflected on the glass beside him. A mixture that made his skin glowing like he had emerged from a dream, Geralt's dream.

But Jaskier had changed.

He looked tired. Well, more tired than Geralt was comfortable with. He didn't like the idea of Jaskier being tired, or Jaskier being sad, or Jaskier being different.

Geralt stepped towards the bathtub, Jaskier had been busy filling it up with warm water while the Witcher was out dealing with tonight's monster. He stepped in. The water had gone cold by now but he didn't mind.

" _Hm, i was waiting for a biiit more enthusiasm, to be fairly honest_ " Jaskier crossed his arms above his chest " _Are you not impressed_?" he looked down at the Witcher who was now gratefully sunk into the water, rubbing the blood stains off his pale skin, letting the relaxing qualities of the water benefit his sore body.

Geralt paused as he lifted his head, finally locked eyes with his (now former) bard. Jaskier's toothy grin was there to remind him how much he had fucking missed him. He had missed his ever babbling, ever singing, ever playing that damn lute travelling companion. But he would never admit it to anyone, not even to himself. 

_"How the fuck did you find me, Jaskier?"_

_"Well, it was not an easy task, I must say"_ a hand was drawing abstract lines on the air as he continued talking " _followed the traces - bloody traces mostly - of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak_ " he paused, grin never leaving his face. 

_"Onion"_ Geralt corrected the bard smiling to himself. OH Gods, he missed this. 

_"Ahaa, no, Geralt! That's not how_ **-"** well it wasn't entirely a lie. " _Truth is I asked around, gathered some information, you know, my acquaintances were more than willing to help me with that, I obviously don't mean that I had to use my charm in my favour, or seduce them to the point where I had access to their house and bedroom and private documents as long as other private -"_

 _"Jaskier!"_ Geralt growled but Jaskier was sure he saw his lips curling in a smirk.

 _"Oh, right, sorry!"_ he tried his best to look innocent but that look had never worked on the Witcher and it didn't work now. " _As I was saying"_ he approached the bathtub, kneeling in front of Geralt, arms resting folded on the sides of the tub " _I had a hard time trying to get to you, old friend_ " he lowered his voice.

 _"It didn't sound like you did"_ Geralt followed Jaskier's gaze as he tried to ignore the ' _old friend_ ' part . Is that what Geralt was to Jaskier now? It would only make sense after what happened between the two. But Geralt didn't want to believe it. He had gone to great lengths to find him, really, he had tried to reach him, he was getting close to him and every time Jaskier was slipping out of his grasp like a soap, a sweet scented soap, at the last moment.

Like he didn't want to be found. Like he was hiding. But no, he was standing right there, right beside him and Geralt would have sworn that he's dreaming. 

But the cold water stung his skin was purely a proof that he wasn't. Jaskier was there.

_Like old times.  
  
_

The night was slow. The silence outside was defeaning, young snow was falling, a soft blanket covering the earth, black naked branches of a few dead trees scattered on the sides of the road turned white. A hopefull image in winter's deep sleep dream. 

The water in the tub had turned cold. _Freezing_. Projecting thorns on his skin as he let his arm float on the surface, only inches away from the Witcher's shoulder. He could only imagine what would have happened if he was to - accidentally - lean forward and and brush his lips on the man's skin. Only a faint brush. By accident. 

_Of course._

He shook the thought from his head and focused on the temperature of the water as he was sending small waves with his fingers to Geralt's direction (if he could pretend the water was Geralt's skin, everything would be much easier, right?).

" _Get out of there, Geralt_ " he whispered softly, the words fell like petals on the water, disturbing the surface. 

He could barely hold himself, he realized. Geralt was so close to him, he could feel the heat radiating from his body. Despite the coldness surrounding him, his skin was unnaturally hot due to the mutations, a warmth Jaskier had longed for. The same warmth that had gifted him long and peaceful hours of sleep, curled by the Witcher's side during the coldest of nights. 

Geralt obeyed (a surprise) and rised from the water looking for a cloth to dry the droplets running down his torso and arms and thighs and, _oh_.. Jaskier had to look away to hide the lovely blush spread across his face but it was pointless because he had realized in horror that the pink was now spreading down his chest and shoulders and hands and _**OH**_.. He would have to spend the rest of the night locked in the closet if that was to continue, he thought to himself.

No, no,no. He stood up and walked towards the other man, observing his every move while he was putting on clean clothes (well, that was a _disappointment_ ). Jaskier's senses were enhanced at this point trying to absorb the scene unfolding before his eyes in all its entirety. 

Geralt had looked fairly calm, in Jaskier's surprise. He was expecting the Witcher to throw him out of the room (or window) or threat him with his big sword. He would go with the latter if he was given the opportunity to choose. He had missed the adrenaline and the sight of the sword shimmering in the night, that was the only reason, of course it was.   
But it wasn't.

He had spent almost two decades wandering what would have go right if everything hadn't go wrong.

Rright for Jaskier was summer nights spent pretending to work on a new composition, catching glimpses of the Witcher while he was cleaning his swords, or mixing and stirring up potions, putting those muscles in action, capturing the sight of his veins wrapping his arms like a master work of curlicue, swollen by the heat, crafted by the most skilled artist.

Right for Jaskier was sharing one bedroll with the other man while taking full advantage of every inch of the Witcher's body in a desperate attempt to keep his own warm during the merciless and often violent attack.

Right for Jaskier was making sure to buy some extra apples from the market and hiding them in the saddle bag for the Witcher to find the next day. 

And it was all right and all wrong.

 _"Are you staying for the night?"_ Geralt asked and Jaskier would have taken it as an invitation if he, of course, haven't already rented a room of his own in that same inn.

" _What do you think?_ " his face was painted with a smile, lovely lines forming around his mouth " _Should I leave?"_

He didn't wish to leave. He was looking for Geralt for months, he wanted to spill his heart on him , he wanted to prove to him and to himself that he was a worthy travel companion after all. Worthy of the Witcher's splendor, worthy of the man's glorious and heroic route in the world.

_"Don't,"_

It was a whisper but the sincerity echoed like the beating of a drum meddling with one's own heartbeat, making the sound almost unbearable to Jaskier's sensitive ears.

 _"Don't leave"_ if it was possible for a voice to sound less like a voice and more like a faint rustling of rose petals, that was it.

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat (or two) underneath his ribcage staring at the golden pools with his own blue eyes, wide now with surprise.

 _"I won't_ " he closed the small distance between them swiftly and reached for the Witcher's hands, cupping them in his own. " _I found you and i'm not planning on going anywhere now that I know you want me here"._

Jaskier had been well known for his self-assurance and ability to make things work in a way that would be most beneficial for him. However he had found himself short of breath numerous times when the Witcher was standing close, when the Witcher was speaking, when the Witcher was fighting, when the Witcher simply existing. He had found himself feeling admittedly weak in the knees every time the door of their shared room opened and Geralt was back from the hunt, safe, unharmed. He had found himself lost for words when the Witcher had taken care of his twisted ankle on that spring morning when he was (for the umpteenth time) being extremely careless. He had found himself unable to move when Geralt had sat a bit too close on that tavern chair, brushing his thigh with his own. 

However life was too short to hold back.

Geralt watched as the younger man lifted their hands up to his lips and pressed a light kiss on his knuckles without breaking eye contact. Two dim and soft golden lights gleaming on the surface of two bright blue pools. Gold diving in blue, blue embracing gold like a delightful tomb.

" _Jaskier_ " his voice escaped him sounding only like a dying whisper. He took slender fingers in his hands, caressing the pads on the back before pressing them against his lips, one by one. As if he was performing some kind of magic ritual, he procceeded with kissing the fingers' joints, one by one. For the final act, Geralt placed his lips on Jaskier's knuckles, repeating ten times, kissing one by one.

Jaskier's knees were slowly but surely betraying him, lacking the strength to keep his weight and the weight of the loudest of emotions that took over his heart leaving him gasping speechless and overwhelmed with an uprush of happiness, desire and fulfillment. Emotions closely associated with the man standing in front of him, wiping away every single doubt and fear dwelling in his mind for the last three years, with nothing but a touch with his lips.

" _I'm here_ " the tone in Jaskier's voice was reassuring. Geralt felt like he was bathing in the clearest lake, surrounded by Jaskier's murmurs, soft whispers, light singing, laughter, all in the form of cleansing water. A dive meant to quell his hunger for catharsis. A hunger torturing him since the day their ways parted, impossible to be subdued no matter how desperately he had tried.

 _"I rented a room_ " Jaskier continued " _I didn't know if you would share this one with me since you had no idea I was coming_ " he hesitated for a brief moment but the sight of the Witcher's fingers intertwined with his long ones was enough to fuel his determination to never leave the man ever again.

" _I'd be a fool to let you go, Jaskier_ " he cupped the younger man's cheeks as he drew closer " _I was a fool once, not repeating that_ " hands travelled from cheeks to neck, thumbs caressing the soft skin behind Jaskier's ears sending shivers down the latter's spine. 

If time stopped in that moment, if the earth below their feet crumbled and the walls around them came tumbling down, if the world came to an end, Jaskier would be grateful.

" _You better behave from now on, Witcher_ " he commented and made sure that his tone was humorous enough. In fact, he wanted to scream but his voice was weak and his head was spinning as he felt heavy fingers tracing his spine, making their way down, causing the hair on his back raising to the touch like sunflowers hungering for the sun.

 _"Is that what you wish? Really, bard?_ " he raised an eyebrow, teasing the younger man and continued " _then, tell me, how do you wish me to behave?_ " there may have been a smirk on his lips but it faded shortly after he landed his eyes on Jaskier's - oh so pink and ruthlessly inviting - lips and his heart spun in circles inside his chest.

Jaskier could feel the witcher's hot breath resting on the soft skin of his neck as Geralt pulled him closer, chest against chest. The witcher's arm was curled around his waist, like a snake sizing up its prey, keeping it in place, never letting go until its hunger is satisfied. 

" _I thought you would never let me have this_ " Geralt breathed in the smell of Jaskier's hair, burying his nose behind the man's ear.

" _What?_ " Jaskier flinched at that as a nervous laugh escaped him. He felt his chest overflowing with adoration, filling up his body, sending a marvelous warmth across his limps and back to the very center of his soul. He beamed at the Witcher, cupping his cheeks inside his palms, making him face the blue fires flickering in anticipation behind his lashes.

" _ **You** thought -"_ he paused as he let his tongue travel the small distance from one corner of his mouth to the other, licking his lower lip, never breaking the eye contact, never blinking. What if he blinked and all was gone? He didn't want that.

" _Oh dear Witcher, the tales I could tell,_ " Jaskier sang and passed a thumb across Geralt's cheekbone, marvelling at the shadows the man's lashes were casting on the soft skin there.  
" _Tales of how I spend half of my life doubting myself,_ " he stopped and lowered his head biting the inside of his cheek. He didn't wish to awaken the feelings of guilt in the Witcher's heart. After all it was his choice to leave him behind that day on the mountain. Yes, he needed to be away from Geralt for a while, to work on himself, to better himself, to grow and to bloom. But a flower needs roots to bloom and so Jaskier came back to his Witcher, his soil, his water, his Sun.

" _tales of how I spend half of my life wanting you and nothing else_ " he calmly confessed and his eyes were focused on the wooden floor.

" _Why don't you look at me while you say this?_ " Geralt's voice was low, lower than usual, his lungs were expanding filled with lust and wanting. Two extended fingers were placed under Jaskier's chin, forcing the man to look up. 

" _Now say it again for me, don't change a word_ " he whispered in Jaskier's ear sending a hot breath straight to his heart, burning it sweetly and thoroughly.

" _I'm wanting you, Geralt,_ " Jaskier tilted his head and smiled at him, his burning heart was sending crimson signals to his body through his veins, a fire running back and forth, teasing his lips, making them dry, lungs gasping for air, heat, heat, heat. It was unbearable. He could only find salvation in Geralt's wet mouth. So, he reached out, his ribcage was clasping his lungs tightly as his lips found their way on the Witcher's. 

Jaskier's lips were soft against his and his breath warming sweetly the inside of his mouth. With a hand pressed on the back of the bard's head, he pulled him closer craving more of his delicious taste. His tongue was tracing a wet trail over Jaskier's lips, a plead, a silent request. Jaskier opened his mouth to let him in, gasping at the contact, fingers slowly traveling inside the Witcher's shirt, scatching the skin mindlessly, unapologetically. Their tongues, in an embrace, were dancing to the rhythm of their conjoined hearts. Exploring, discovering, claiming. 

Geralt wanted this, he wanted more of this. He could never had enough of his bard. He deepened the kiss, catching Jaskier's tongue with his teeth, enjoying the moans escaping the man's throat. These lovely sounds were his prize, a treasure to hold dear, to protect, to hide in a golden box and bury it deep beneath his heart. He placed his hands around Jaskier's neck and let the kiss faint, unwilling to pull away, unwilling to give up on the warmth and tenderness radiating from Jaskier's lips. 

It was Jaskier who found the courage to step out of the dream, out of breath, out of mind. With thunder spilling eyes, he looked at the Witcher and it was all Geralt ever needed. The look on Jaskier's face was worth all these years travelling alone, it was worth all the pain of loneliness. If fate wanted him to pass wearying trials to reach the golden trophy, that was Jaskier, he was willing to go all over again the starting line. 

Jaskier's lips were swollen as he pulled away. A glimmering trail of sweat was making its way down the side of his temple, hair strands sticking together in a disheveled harmony. A flush spreading over his face, emphasizing his soft features. Oh he was beautiful.

Geralt couldn't keep his hands away, he let his hand fall on Jaskier's shoulder, gently removing the silk fabric, painting his skin with light kisses like his body was a canvas and he was the artist. The wet sounds, so close to Jaskier's ear, were defeaning, silencing every thought, causing his mind to fell in a deep slumber. He couldn't stop the moans and growls rising in his chest, from finding their way out, escaping his lips. An invitation for more creation. The canvas would break out without the constant apply of wet paint. Geralt was now busy leaving traces of pretty purple and pink on his shoulders, neck and jawline, claiming him as his own, his work of art, marking him like a feral animal.

And Jaskier could only let the gratefulness, the passion and adoration leak from his eyes, roll down his cheeks as he felt a bubble expanding in the back of his throat. A silky stroke wiped away the tears on Jaskier's satin skin as Geralt's lips followed the path of happy teardrops.

Silk and satin, like the snowflakes ghostly tapping on the window. The snow was now covering bad memories, hurtful words, pain, blood and sorrow. Never to be uncovered, forever buried beneath winter's heavy veil.

_  
_


End file.
